Page 50 of The Beast Between Us
The wolf halts, ears twitching.
Then he sits.
Not in threat. Not in challenge.
He just… sits. Only a foot away from me, his massive form rising to meet my gaze.
Even now, we’re eye level, the wolf and I.
And I swear, deep in those glowing red eyes, there’s sorrow. Confusion. A fight still raging just beneath the surface.
I press a trembling hand to my chest.
“I need you,” I whisper. “Both of you.”
Nothing.
No movement. No shift. Just silence.
Have I lost Thorne forever? Why did he do this? Did he give in to the wolf and let him take full control?
The thought rips through me like a blade. My chest caves with the weight of it, and the tears I’ve held back fall freely. I drop to my bloodied knees and sob. My body shaking, scraped palms pressed into the cold, damp earth.
Now, directly in front of me, the wolf lets out a low, mournful whine.
Without thinking, I reach up and stroke his fur…wet and matted, sticky with blood. My father’s. But it doesn’t repulse me.
Because this is my beast.
My protector.
My mate.
Even if it is only half of him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper through the sobs. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I truly do want you in my life, Beast. But I need Thorne, too.”
My fingers tremble as I bury them deeper into his fur, clinging to the only thing steady in this storm.
“I need his arms around me when I’m afraid. His growls when I’ve pushed him too far. I need his quiet strength… his gentle hands…claws and all…to carry me to bed and tuck me in.”
I rest my forehead on his. His breath huffs softly against my cheek.
“I can’t only have one of you,” I whisper. “I need both. Please, Beast… let him come back. Let him return, even if only halfway. Just give me Thorne.”
The wolf whines again. Longer this time. Deeper. The sound is mournful… torn.
Then, slowly, he lowers himself to the ground, muscles rippling beneath bloodstained fur. With another low groan, he curls around me, his massive frame surrounding mine in a protective crescent. His warmth seeps into my trembling body, and I press against him instinctively, grateful for the barrier between me and the cold.
The blood doesn’t matter.
Not when I’m freezing.
Not when I’m aching.
Not when I know it was spilled for me.
“I know you’re trying,” I whisper, fingers stroking his thick fur. “I know you didn’t want to come back like this.”
